


like folk songs

by BabyVillanelle



Series: everything's growing in our garden [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Anxiety, Coming of Age, Demons, Elemental Magic, Emotional Manipulation, Forests, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Misogyny, Intrusive Thoughts, Leaving Home, M/M, Prophetic Dreams, Quests, Snow, bonding with your chosen family thru shared trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29280762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyVillanelle/pseuds/BabyVillanelle
Summary: A sequel to Coming up Lavender - Felix heads out into a storm and Chan follows.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Series: everything's growing in our garden [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2150184
Comments: 15
Kudos: 97





	like folk songs

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings for: emotional/psychological manipulation by a parent (only happens directly once in the second scene but there are some memories of it/references back to it), intrusive thoughts, anxiety and night terrors. Mentions of blood and bone, and implied (offscreen) human and animal death, some light body horror and references to sexism and homophobia. 
> 
> If you have any questions about any of these please don't be afraid to ask me about them! I'll drop my cc and my twitter in the end notes. 
> 
> Thank you to my lovely friends who edited this for me - this one is for you. Thanks for loving me so much.
> 
> Title from seven by Taylor Swift.

_I swear, I’ll try harder not to  
miss as much: the tree, or how  
your fingers under  
still sleep-stunned sheets  
coaxed all my colors back._  
\- The Tree of Fire, **Ada Limón**

❧

There’s this dream that Chan has. He’s been carefully constructing it for years. 

An apartment in a city far away from here, from this house, these woods. Far away from his father. He’s spent so long daydreaming about it that every room is vivid to him, filled with detail. 

It’s simple. One bedroom with two big windows, on two different walls so he can open them in the summer and feel the breeze. Bookcases full of his favorite spell books and non-magic books too, like the ones he checks out of the library in town and hides under his mattress. 

He wouldn’t have to hide anything here, could arrange his books however he wanted on his shelves. He has it all mapped out, down to the pictures on the walls, and every time he dreams it now, it’s exactly the same. He’s thought about the apartment so much that he can drop into it effortlessly. 

He can tell that something’s different tonight as soon as he opens his eyes. 

He’s always been alone before. Tonight he’s standing in his dream living room and he can hear the tell-tale sounds of someone in the kitchen: drawers opening and closing, silverware rattling, the click of the gas range as it’s turned on. Chan walks through to the doorway and freezes. 

Felix is in his imaginary kitchen, as real and solid to Chan as the rest of it. He’s at the stove, humming and stirring something. He’s barefoot, in a worn t-shirt and his hair is all messy on one side like he had slept on it. 

“What are you doing here?” Chan asks, and Felix glances over his shoulder at him. 

“You tell me,” he says with a smile. “It’s your dream.” 

❧

Chan knocks on his father’s office door. He waits a moment and the door opens on its own. Casual magic like that isn’t as simple as it looks; it requires two kinds of charms and a rune similar to the one Chan put on his and Felix’s door that senses human presence. Chan’s father’s tendency towards theatrics is something that he used to find enchanting, but now it strikes him as ostentatious. 

His father could just stand up and open his door himself, but no. 

He’s at his desk, a big blocky piece of antique wooden furniture, the kind that draws attention, dark wood sapping the light from the room instead of reflecting it. 

When Chan was little, he’d imagined that all great magic users looked like his father - serious and wise, with tortoise-shell glasses and well-tailored tweed suits. Now he’s just annoyed and afraid, and he kind of thinks his father looks stuffy and pretentious. 

“Chan,” he says, dipping his quill pen into the pot of ink at his side, “Come in.” 

Chan had walked here with such certainty, but now he finds himself cowering in front of his father’s steady, piercing gaze. 

“Um.” 

_Off to a great start!_

His father arches an eyebrow in amusement. Chan’s stomach turns.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Chan says, “About the assignment you gave Felix.” 

It’s a tradition in their family, a rite of passage for young men to take on their first job by themselves some time after their twenty-first birthday. These assignments are how Chan’s father makes his money. Magic users contact him when they need help with a particularly sticky spirit. Ghosts, demons, and poltergeists are the most common, but other types of spirit are not out of the question. 

Chan’s first solo job had been a poltergeist, a leftover shadow in an abandoned hospital. It had taken him a week and everything he had to defeat it and when he’d finally made it home he had slept for four days. Felix’s assignment is worse than that. 

Chan’s father smiles, laying his quill pen down at the head of his desk. 

“Of course,” he says warmly, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk, “I was expecting this.”

That surprises Chan. He sits down, rubbing his sweaty palms on his pants. He’s never outright protested anything his father has said before, but so far it’s going better than he expected.

“Oh, um, great,” he says, trying out a smile, “I just. Well. I thought I would offer to go with him.” 

Chan’s father sighs, removing his glasses and folding them in front of him. 

“You know I can’t let you do that, Chan,” he says, and Chan starts to protest, but his father simply holds up a hand, “He has to go alone. That’s just the way things are done. I’m sure you understand.” 

“Yes, but-” 

His father raises his hand again, and Chan bites his tongue. 

“I know you care about the boy,” his father says, “And I’m grateful for it, truly I am. I made him your responsibility and you’ve done a great job so far. Well, mostly.” 

Guilt grinds like rusted gears inside of him, but he keeps it from showing on his face, keeps quiet. He loves Felix more than he hates himself. That’s why he’s here, afterall. 

“But if we want him to finally grow up,” Chan’s father continues, folding his hands together, “If we want him to get stronger, we have to let him go alone. It’s for the best.” 

“But what if he doesn’t make it back?” Chan asks, his voice wavering. 

“Now, Chan,” his father says, still irritatingly patient, “Don’t be dramatic. Do you really have no faith in him?” 

“Of course I do. Felix is-” _brave, strong, perfect-,_ “-tougher than he looks. But this is too much. You have to see that.” 

“I _have_ to?” Chan’s father says, frowning at him, “Chan. I think your concern is commendable. Of course we have to protect our own. And yes, I’ll admit that the job I chose for Felix is … more complicated than others.” 

“More complicated?!” Chan objects, “You’re sending him out there to die!” 

Chan’s father smacks his hand down on the surface of his desk and Chan jumps. 

“You will not speak to me that way,” Chan’s father says, ice cold and quiet. Chan finally understands that he’d lost this argument before he ever walked in the door. That his father has been leading him here this whole conversation, “ _I_ make the decisions in this house, not you. I never make a decision without considering the wellbeing of my family. My _whole_ family. I raised Felix, fed him, kept him clothed, trained him. He’s not as accomplished as I had hoped he would be, but this job should help toughen him up a bit. Make him a man. You’ll see that when he returns. Don’t you remember your first job?” 

Chan grits his teeth. Darkness. Darkness is what he remembers. Darkness and death and a voice like metal grinding on metal that stuck with him for months afterwards. And the nightmares. 

He’d certainly felt different after he’d returned, but he hadn’t felt _stronger_ , only more afraid. But his father is surveying him with piercing eyes, so he nods. 

“Exactly,” his father says, his voice slipping back into the cadence it had at the beginning of the conversation, warm and patient, “And now look at you! Nearly as accomplished as I was at your age!” 

It’s the kind of compliment that used to make Chan glow with pride. Now it turns his stomach. 

He looks his father fully in the face for the first time since he walked in. Really looks at him. 

_I am nothing like you,_ he thinks. Wants to spit it out, throw it in his father’s face. Instead he just nods again. 

❧

It's raining the night that Felix is supposed to leave. There's no big send-off. The leaving means nothing if you don't return, so Chan's family has always saved the celebration for their sons’ triumphant return.

Chan remembers his own send-off, three years ago. He'd been terrified, down to his bones scared, and he'd asked his oldest brother for advice. He'd just smiled and patted Chan on the shoulder and told him that if he survived this, he'd understand. If. Chan remembers that so clearly. If. His brother had laughed, kind enough, but the message was clear. If you're afraid, you don't let them know. You don't let anyone know.

Chan doesn't want Felix to doubt that Chan believes in him, so he doesn't say anything about what he's planning to do. They're in their room before Felix goes and Felix looks awful, sickly pale underneath his freckles.

Chan wishes he knew how to handle this, how to tell Felix not to be scared, but he can't, never learned how. All he knows how to do is hug him, kiss him on the forehead, on his closed eyelids, and let him go.

As soon as he's out of the room, Chan runs to the bureau and pulls down the wrapped blanket on the top shelf, unrolls it and pulls out his bag. He yanks it open and double checks everything before putting on his raincoat and swinging the bag on over his shoulder.

He makes himself wait an hour. It's excruciating, the waiting. The rain is heavy, pounding ceaselessly on the roof above him, drowning out the usual sounds that come with living in a full house, so that he feels completely alone.

Once the hour's passed, he gets off of his bed and grabs his hiking boots. He cracks the door open and checks the hallway.

The easiest way out of the house from the top floor is the window at the end of the hall, which opens right above the roof to the study below. The window in Chan's room would have been a more concealed exit route, but that one opens right above a thirty foot drop and Chan hasn't learned any spells yet that would protect him from that fall.

He crouches by the window and puts his boots on, lacing them tightly. He slides the window open slowly, just open enough for him to slip through, then he slowly lowers it shut behind him.

The roof is slipperier than he was expecting, and he has to brace himself with his hands and feet to stop himself from sliding off of the slick tiles. The wet roof is icy cold, and his hands burn from the contact. He slowly crawls to the edge and lowers himself down onto the second roof below.

This roof has a steeper slant, and as soon as Chan lets go of the edge of the roof above him, his feet slide. For a few heart-stopping seconds, Chan is certain he's about to ruin everything, fall and break his back right in front of the living room window below. But he catches himself, shifting his weight forward, his fingers scrambling for purchase.

He's soaking wet and breathing hard by the time he makes it to the ground. He lands with a wet squelch in the mud.

From here, it's easy. There's a path behind the hedges at the back of the garden that is completely obscured from the house. Chan knows it well. A house like his raises excellent liars. 

He makes it under the cover of the tree line and pauses. He hadn't really planned past this part. He'd just been so focused on getting out of the house and now that he's done that safely, he doesn't know where to go.

His hood has been doing nothing to protect him from the torrential rain, so he rips it off, runs his hand through his messy hair. Anger catches him in his stomach with a hard punch that has his blood boiling. He's pissed at himself for not thinking better, pissed at his father for sending Felix away and pissed at Felix for going, even though he knows that he had no choice. That staying was never an option. He wants to lash out, but he stops himself short when an idea occurs to him. It’s not his best idea. Nor is it an idea he’s particularly excited about, but it’s the only one he’s got right now. 

He wipes rain away from his face and peers deeper into the dark forest.

"Hello," he whispers to the trees, feeling stupid. "Hi, um. It's Chan." He cringes. He's glad Felix isn't here to see him doing this, "I know you like Felix better but um, I need your help."

He stands still for a moment, listening. There's nothing. Just the rain on his head and the sound of the wind in the higher branches.

"I'm looking for him, do you know where he is?" he says, louder, "Can you show me where Felix is?"

Still, nothing. Chan slips his bag off of his shoulder and rifles through it, pulling out an old flashlight. He clicks it on and it flickers for a moment, but then casts a weak beam of light onto the forest floor. He keeps it pointed low to avoid being noticed by someone looking out the windows of the house and sweeps it back and forth. For a few more moments, all he sees is dirt and rain and mucky leaves.

And then a flash of purple. He almost misses it, the beam of light passing right over it and then swinging back.

It's a small flower, about the size of a quarter, and it has no business growing in early December. His stomach turns over when he recognizes it as the same type of flower he'd crushed under his foot all those weeks ago. He searches around frantically and sees a second one, of the same kind of flower, further into the woods.

"Very funny!" He calls out to the empty woods. "Message received!"

He follows the flowers deeper into the woods, walking for what feels like hours, until he sees the feeble light of a lantern. Next to it is Felix, his Felix, soaking wet and shivering. He calls out to him and Felix looks up, confused. When he sees that it's Chan, he gets to his feet, runs to him and throws his arms around him. Chan catches him with a breath of relief.

"Hi," he says, pressing their foreheads together. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Felix says. "Scared as fuck but I'm fine. Are you okay?"

"Yes," Chan says. "Sorry I took so long."

"I didn't think you were coming," Felix admits, and Chan's heart crumples.

"I didn't know if you wanted me to," Chan says, and Felix's eyes widen.

"Why would I not want you to come?" Felix says, his voice higher than usual. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?!"

"I—" Chan starts, his reasoning feeling ludicrous now that Felix is looking at him expectantly, "I didn't want you to think I thought you couldn't handle it on your own. I didn't want you to feel like I thought you were weak or something."

Felix takes a step back from him.

"I don't care about that!" he cries, "I was scared! And alone! And you thought I cared about looking _tough_? Fuck that."

Not for the first time, Chan marvels at the boy that is Felix Lee. How easily he says things that terrify Chan, how casually he admits to fear.

"I'm sorry," Chan says, coming forward. "You're right. I should have just told you what I was planning. But I'm here. Okay? I'm here. I'll keep you safe."

Felix twists his mouth up into a little smile.

"How about we keep each other safe?"

"Sure," Chan says with a half laugh, reaching out and pulling Felix in for a kiss. 

Their mouths find each other so easily now, even in the dark, in the pouring rain. Felix's skin is cold and wet but his mouth tastes the same. 

Felix breaks the kiss and snuggles his face into the side of Chan’s neck. He’s getting tall now, taller than Chan by a few centimeters, but he can still make himself small when he wants to. Chan clings to him, cold hands slipping on the back of his soaked-through jacket. Kisses the curve of his ear. 

_I’m sorry,_ he wants to say, _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry._

"Well this explains a lot," an unexpected voice from behind them has them springing apart. Chan whirls around, just in time to see Sana appear in the clearing, melting into view with the rain as she shakes off whatever invisibility charm she’d used.

"What are you doing here?" Chan asks hurriedly, moving ever so slightly in front of Felix. Sana puts her hands up defensively.

"Woah," she says, pushing her hood back so she can see them better, "Cool it. I'm here for the same reason you are. Well," she looks between the two of them, "maybe not the _exact_ same reason. I'm here to look out for the kid."

Chan is about to protest, but Felix rushes past him and throws his arms around Sana, too. Sana hugs him, making eye contact with Chan over his shoulder. Her smile says: _I'm happy Felix is safe,_ but her eyes say: _We are so talking about this later._

"Yeah, looks like you've got us all wrapped around your finger," Sana says, squeezing him. Felix laughs.

"Did the forest lead you here, too?" Chan asks, and they both turn to look at him, confused. He flushes with embarrassment.

"No," Sana says slowly, "I just followed you. But I would love to hear more about that. After we get somewhere warm.”

"Y-yeah, sorry," Felix says, his teeth chattering, "I don't have a t-tent or anything."

"No biggie," Sana says, looking around the clearing and zeroing in on the biggest tree in it. It's ancient, and big enough that even if the three of them held hands, they wouldn't be able to wrap their arms completely around it.

She kneels down at the base and mumbles something that Chan can't hear, then presses her hands against the bark right above the roots. As he watches, a space between the roots opens and grows until it's big enough for a person to crawl through. Sana looks up at them and grins conspiratorially.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Felix asks, voice filled with awe.

"I'm supposed to be a home-maker, remember?" she says, taking the ragged camping backpack off of her back and tossing it into the tree. "Well, it’s not a home. But it’ll do for tonight."

She grins up at them, wiggling her eyebrows, and ducks inside.

Felix shrugs, and follows her in. Chan scans the clearing one last time and squeezes his way under the tree. 

They settle inside, in a space about the size of a minivan. It’s high enough to stand up in and it smells like wood shavings, even though the walls and ceiling are smooth and worn, as if the tree had always looked like this, as if it hadn’t rearranged itself at Sana’s request. 

Felix is touching the walls with awe on his face. A twinge of anxiety tugs at Chan’s heart. Felix looks over his shoulder at him with a strange sadness in his eyes.

Sana pulls the entrance she’d made closed like she’s shutting a window. 

“Won’t we suffocate?” Chan asks anxiously. 

“Trees make oxygen,” Sana says simply, unzipping her coat and shimmying out of it.

“With their leaves, though,” Chan says. “We’re _inside_ of it.” 

Sana wipes the rain water from her face and simply says, “I asked it to send some down here.” 

“That’s amazing,” Felix says. Sana looks at him with surprise, cheeks flushing. She shakes her head and holds her hands out. 

“Give me your coats, boys.” 

Sana drops onto the ground with their coats, sitting cross-legged in front of them. She wiggles her fingers, then twists them, pulling the water up out of the soaked fabric of their jackets, where she lets it hang in the air for a moment, then flicks her fingers to dissipate it. 

“There,” she says, matter-of-factly, “All dry.” 

❧

That night, in the tree, Chan dreams a blizzard.

White, everywhere. Wind whipping at his face as he wanders through the trees. Heavy snow makes everything so quiet, even Chan's footsteps are muffled.

He's looking for someone, but he doesn't know who. He blinks icy flakes out of his eyes, his head down against the wind.

He sees a footprint in the snow ahead of him, and the logic of dreams tells him that it belongs to Felix. He starts to move faster, eyes watering as he walks into the wind, fighting to keep his head tilted up so he can see the tracks ahead of him.

The snow is falling so fast now, it would cover a set of tracks in less than a minute. Felix must be close, so close that Chan should be able to hear him, would be able to hear him if it weren't for the heavy silence, the wind whipping any noise away from his ears before he can hear it.

He stops for a moment to catch his breath, holding up a hand to shield his face. He calls out into the storm for Felix, but the wind steals the sound from his throat. He tries again, louder, and again his voice is lost. Felix could have been standing right in front of him and he wouldn't have been able to hear him. His stomach goes as cold as the rest of him when he realizes that Felix could be here, right here, afraid and alone, on the other side of any one of these trees, and Chan would never know.

He looks down to keep following the footprints but finds them gone, nothing but smoothed over snow, stray flakes skittering across the surface.

Chan spins around in a panic and sees that his own tracks, his way back, are wiped clean as well. The direction he's facing should be the way that he came from, but the trees look wrong, closer together than he remembers.

He calls out for Felix again, desperate, and this time it makes a sound, loud and sudden in the muffling wind. Everything quiets, like the whole forest has heard him. Even the branches of the trees still, and the snow that has been circling around him in violent flurries settles at his feet.

Chan is about to cry out again when something huge and dark moves behind the trees.

❧

He opens his eyes and jolts upright, scrambling in his consciousness for the cool metal of his magic. A reflex. He looks for Felix. Another reflex. Felix is sleeping in his sleeping bag, and Chan feels some of his panic dispel with the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Chan wants to wake him up.

"Chan?"

Sana's voice comes from across the hollowed-out tree. She's awake but just barely, still rubbing her face, a small camping lantern at her side, glowing yellow.

"Are you okay?" she asks, and Chan pulls his reach back, blinks at her.

"Y-yeah," he croaks, then coughs, says clearer, "Yeah. I'm fine. Just a weird dream."

He twists his hand in the slippery fabric of his sleeping bag to stop his fingers from trembling.

"You sure?" she asks, peering at him through the low light. He does his best convincing smile.

"I'm _fine,_ Sana," he says irritably. He sort of wishes she hadn’t come. And then he feels bad for wishing that. She has every right to be here. He looks up at her sheepishly and sees that she’s studying his face pensively, “Sorry.” 

She shrugs. 

“No biggie,” she says, glances over at Felix. Lowers her voice to just above a whisper, “But as your older sister, I have to ask. How long?” 

“How long have I loved him or how long have we been…,” Chan doesn’t know how to explain what they are. He gestures between himself and Felix’s sleeping form, “You know.” 

“Both.” 

“He kissed me a month ago,” Chan says, settling back against the smooth wall of the tree. He’s surprised to find it warm, like a living breathing thing, and he relaxes into it. “And my whole life, Sana. I’ve loved him my whole goddamn life.”

Sana smiles, sad and crooked, looking down at Felix. 

“Well I certainly can’t blame you for that,” she says, and Chan melts. Tears crawl up the back of his throat, aching. 

“You don’t—” Chan says, voice barely above a whisper, “You don’t hate me?” 

“What?” Sana says, gaze snapping to his face, her mouth screwed up, “No. Chan, you’re my brother. My baby brother. I don’t think there’s anything you could do to make me hate you. Especially not this. Why would I hate you for loving somebody?” 

Chan can’t speak. Literally. If he opens his mouth he’s going to start sobbing so he just nods. 

“Besides,” she says, pulling her knees up to her chest and crossing her arms over them, “It would be awfully hypocritical of me, I think.” 

Chan’s eyes snap to her, “You…?”

“Do you remember when we actually used to spend time with other magic families?” Sana asks, her gaze settling somewhere in the middle distance, like she’s seeing something Chan can’t see. Chan remembers. Their mom used to throw picnics, invite all the families in the area. Their father had put a stop to it a few years ago and had never explained why. He was fond of doing that—making decisions and refusing to explain them. She doesn’t wait for an answer, “The Parks, they were always so nice to me. They had a daughter, Jihyo. Do you remember her?” 

Chan does, sort of. A girl around Sana’s age with a bright smile and boundless energy. She and Sana had been inseparable, once. 

“We were friends for so long,” she says, “And when I was fifteen, she kissed me in the garden.” 

Sana blushes, hides more of her face behind her crossed arms. 

“It was just one kiss, just _one,_ ” she says, “But Dad saw. He never said anything to me. He just looked at me and turned away. We never talked about it. And then that was the last time we had guests.”

Chan doesn’t know what to say. 

“So, I’m sorry, I guess,” she says, “For ruining that for all of us.” 

“No,” Chan says, vehemently, shaking his head. He wants to crawl across to Sana’s sleeping bag and hold her hand, offer her some comfort, but he’s out of practice. He doesn’t remember the last time he hugged someone who wasn’t Felix. “No, Sana. That’s not your fault. That’s dad. _He did that to us_.” 

Even here, underground, miles from home, it feels sacrilegious to say those words. He whispers them, and Sana winces. She sniffles, then nods. She wipes at her cheeks with the back of her hand, then seems to straighten up, stiffen. She makes eye contact with Chan again, smiles.

“Well,” she says, stretching her legs out, “Time to get going?” 

Chan gets up, his muscles protesting from the long walk last night and then the fitful sleep on the hard, wooden surface.

"How do you open this thing?" Chan asks. Sana shakes her head and gets to her feet, walking over to the side of the tree that they'd entered through. She fits her fingers in between two roots that make up the wall and pulls them apart like she's parting a curtain.

It opens in a rough square about three feet high, and as it does, it lets in a heap of powdery snow.

Chan jumps back like he's been burned. Sana swears.

"Fuck, the storm must have turned into snow in the middle of the night," she says, kicking at the heap on the ground.

Chan can't think of anything to say. He just stares down at the snow. Had he dreamed that?

His father had taught them about prophetic dreams only vaguely. It had been obvious that he didn't put much stock in them. His father preferred magic that was tactile, with physical components like blood and bone. Prophecies were ephemeral and therefore of no interest to his father. If he did any future-telling spellwork at all (which was rare), he used scrying bowls filled with dark black blood and rune stones that he swore were human bone.

Chan ducks outside and blinks in the bright white of the morning. It's the opposite of his dream: peaceful and clear and full of birdsong. He walks for a bit, stretching his legs and searching the area for any sign of danger. 

When Chan gets back to their tree, Sana and Felix are peeking their heads out like a pair of chipmunks.

Maybe that was all it had been, a dream. The snow was a coincidence, or he'd heard the storm, somehow, as he was sleeping and it had worked its way into his brain.

And anyway, Chan was well used to nightmares with dark, shifting figures. Although this one had, admittedly, been more realistic by far than the blurry, tumultuous night terrors he'd had after he'd returned from his first job. 

Sana goes back inside to pack her bag and Felix stands, brushing snow off of his pants. He looks well-rested, and a smile tugs at his lips as he surveys the snow around them. 

While Sana is still packing, Felix bends down and scoops up a handful of powdery snow in his hand. 

“We crossed the border at some point last night,” he says quietly, “We’re not in our forest anymore and these trees aren't very helpful. But I found this spell in a book back home.” 

Felix peeks over at Chan with that look he gets whenever he tries a spell for the first time, the one that says, _Are you watching? Look at me._

There’s this moment right before he casts that Felix makes eye contact with Chan, palm full of snow held up to his face, and he looks deadly serious, focused. 

Felix is _strong._

Chan knew that, passively. It’s just that sometimes his father’s voice is so _loud_ in his head that he can’t hear anything else. 

Chan watches him and gets this inexplicable jolt of want so powerful it almost knocks him backwards. 

He watches Felix’s fingers, pink and wet from the melting snow and wants to suck them into his mouth, wants Felix to pry him open and look inside, see Chan for all that he is, spread out in front of him.

Felix purses his lips and blows, the snow in his hand scattering, then coming back together, a perfect tornado in miniature, refracting morning light. It grows in his hand, then gets caught by a breeze, disappearing between two trees. 

Felix grins, eyes sparkling behind ice crystals, like he can see what Chan is thinking, like he wants it too, wants to take Chan apart piece by piece and put him back together again, better. 

“That way,” Felix says, not taking his eyes off of Chan, pointing in the direction the snow had gone, “North.” 

❧

For a while that morning, they don’t talk, and the only sound is the squeaking crunch of the snow under their boots. They walk for hours, north, like Felix had indicated. Sana had raised her eyebrows when Felix had headed off without an explanation, but she had followed along without protest. 

Something odd is bothering him, prickling at the corners of his awareness, but it’s not until Sana speaks up that he fully notices. 

“I don’t want to freak you guys out,” she says, “but I think we’re being followed.” 

Chan whips around, pulse thudding in his throat, eyes scanning the treeline. He doesn’t see anything except for flashes of the mostly frozen river a ways off through the woods to their right. Without thinking twice, he grabs the collar of Felix’s jacket, rough under his fingers. It’s new, a gift from his mother for the journey, with a sheep’s wool interior and dark, rough denim outside. 

Chan doesn’t know if he’s clinging to him because he doesn’t want him to move closer to the danger or because Chan wants the comfort of being able to feel Felix’s physical presence next to him. 

_Either overprotective or selfish. Pick one._

He drops his hand. Sana backs up, closer to them. It’s deathly quiet, with only the snow occasionally falling in clumps from overburdened branches making any noise at all. Chan is afraid to breathe, and he feels like he’s trying to look everywhere, all at once. And he’s not seeing anything. 

“ _There_ ,” Felix breathes, and they all turn to look. 

Once Chan has something to focus on, some of his fear dissipates. At least now he knows what he’s dealing with. 

A woman kneels by the river’s edge, at a place where the ice has broken away. Her bony shoulders are hunched, and her dark black hair is long down her back. She’s dragging something heavy and made of fabric through the water with smooth, practiced motions. 

_A demon,_ Chan hears his father saying, _Can look like anything it wants to. Anyone it wants to. Can look like your own family, your brothers, or even your frail, old grandmother—_

Something about _this_ demon scratches at the back of Chan’s mind, something he _knows_ but has forgotten. 

He puts himself in between Felix and Sana and the thing at the river. 

“Chan— _-_ ,” Felix whispers, and Chan puts up one hand to silence him. 

“Stay here,” he says over his shoulder. 

This, Chan can do. His magic leaps into his hand, eager to be let out. The spell is simple and Chan is _good_ at it. He just needs two shots: one to the chest to weaken it and the second to banish. He’s close, maybe thirty paces or so from the demon, and now he can see the wrongness of the woman, her once white robe ragged and torn, and the bare skin of her feet and shins is a sickly, cracked grey against the ice. 

He charges the spell with a twist of his arm and aims with practiced precision. Chan doesn’t miss. Chan never misses. 

The center of her back is the best target, so Chan aims and tosses the spell like a dagger aimed right for her heart. 

It passes right through her like she’s nothing. 

She turns and Chan realizes what she’s holding and understands the mistake he’s made. 

She locks eyes with Chan and screeches, her face a mask of pain. She holds up what she’s been washing in the river; heavy thick fabric, dark denim with sheep’s wool. Felix’s coat. And on the rocks beside her, the t-shirt Felix is wearing. 

Chan stumbles backwards, frightened, and slips on a patch of ice. The last thing he hears before he hits his head is Felix’s shout. 

❧

He wakes up in the dark, snatches up his magic and holds its blade to the throat of the person he feels in front of him. 

The electric blue light of his magic illuminates Felix’s scared face and Chan lets go with a sigh of relief. 

“Sorry, sunshine,” Chan says, letting his eyes fall back closed for a moment. His head is pounding with pain, the back of his skull throbbing with his pulse. 

“Hey,” Felix says, rubbing a thumb over Chan’s cheek, “Do you think you can sit up?” 

Chan gets up onto his elbows, then up to sit. His head spins, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut again. 

The snow is cold underneath him, even through his heavy clothing. Vaguely, as if through a thick blanket, he feels Felix take his hand. His hand is so warm and soft, Chan squeezes it. Felix comes forward and tentatively presses their foreheads together. 

“What happened?” Chan asks, his head swimming, “How long have I been out?” 

“Not long,” Felix says, gentle fingers on his forehead, “Twenty minutes? And, um. There was a demon, but it’s okay, don’t freak out.” 

“Oh, I’m freaking out,” Chan says, holding Felix at a distance and struggling to stand. 

“Woah, woah,” a strange voice says, deep and far too close, “Careful, kid.” 

Chan stands up abruptly, fingers finding purchase on the tree behind him as his mind swims and his vision goes fuzzy. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Chan asks angrily, his magic already in his hand again, like it was excited to be useful. The voice belongs to a man, holding a globe of silvery light above his head, illuminating their small group. Behind him is Sana, looking at Chan nervously. 

Felix stands up, holding his hands in front of Chan. 

“It’s okay, Chan,” Felix says, pitching his voice down, soft and soothing, the tone that gets in his bloodstream and calms him down, smoothes him out like wrinkled fabric, “He saved us.”

Chan looks at Sana, breathing hard. She nods. He relaxes only slightly, keeping his grip on the cool metal of his magic. 

“I only saved you for now,” Jaebum says, “That thing will be back. We have to get out of here.” 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Chan spits, tightening his grip. Felix cups his face. 

“I know, hey,” Felix says, gentle and slow, “I know you’re scared.”

 _Not scared_ , Chan’s brain says, _Fuck you, I’m not scared. Not afraid of anything. I am my father’s son and I am not afraid._

He keeps his mouth shut and listens to Felix instead. 

“That woman, by the river, that wasn’t a demon,” Felix explains. Chan knows. He’s known what she was since his spell passed through her without a scratch, “She was an omen. A water ghost.”

An omen of death. Chan knows that. Warriors about to die used to see them before battle, washing the clothes that they wore on their backs. Reflexively, Chan reaches out, places his hand on Felix’s hip. He’s there, real and sturdy and not dead. Not dead. Here. No thanks to Chan, of course. 

He tightens his grip again, glances at the man over Felix’s shoulder. He’s handsome, and younger than his voice had made him sound, his face free of worry lines, dark hair grown long and tucked behind his ears. 

“It all happened so fast,” Felix explains. Chan keeps his eyes on the stranger, “You fell and then it got dark, really dark. And then, uh. Something was here. It was _big._ ” 

The stranger nods, and Felix continues. “And then Jaebum was here,” the stranger holds up a hand in an awkward greeting, like he’s saying _yeah that’s me_ , his mouth pressed closed in a hard line. 

“How—” Chan says, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again, trying to clear the blur from the edges of his vision, “How did you find us?” 

“I live half a mile that way,” Jaebum points with the hand not currently conjuring light, “Our house is warded, I have charms that let me know when there’s danger nearby. One went off, told me that there were kids in trouble, so I came.” 

“A fucking hero,” Chan says, clenching his teeth, “Fantastic.” 

Chan drops his magic, and he feels Felix relax in front of him. All of the fight drains from his body, and he suddenly wants nothing more than to lie down, preferably somewhere warm, with Felix by his side. He thinks of their attic bedroom, so many miles behind them. 

“Sorry,” Chan says, glancing at Jaebum, who is looking at him too closely for Chan’s liking, “Thank you. For helping us, I mean. We could’ve—”

Jaebum waves his hand away. 

“Don’t think about that,” he says, “I would, however, like to know why a demon that powerful would be chasing a bunch of kids through my neighborhood.” 

Chan doesn’t have an answer to that. He also would like to know. Jaebum waits a few beats and then sighs. 

“Why don’t you tell me in the morning?” he says, resigned, and turns towards the path he must have come down, “Come on, let’s get inside.” 

❧

Jaebum leads them through the woods, light emanating from a silver orb that hangs above them like a miniature moon. It bobs along with them until they get close enough to see the lights from neighborhood windows. 

Jaebum waves his hand over his shoulder distractedly and the light vanishes. Almost immediately, Chan stumbles, tripping over a tree root that he hadn’t seen. 

Again. He tripped, again. He feels so stupid. Anger and embarrassment curdle in his stomach as his foot throbs where he’d hit it. 

“This way,” Jaebum says, gruffly waving them out of the woods onto a surprisingly normal, suburban street. Under the streetlights, Chan glances back at Sana with a look that says, _Do you think we can trust him?_

She shrugs, which probably means, _He did save our lives._

Chan can’t think of an argument to that, and he’s tired and stiff with cold and they don’t have any other options. 

Jaebum’s house is as normal as the rest of the street, built too close to its neighbors but otherwise nice, if nondescript. 

“You live _here_?” Chan asks before he can stop himself. Jaebum chuckles as he unlocks his front door. 

“What were you expecting?” he says, waving them inside and flicking on the lights, “A cabin in the woods?” 

None of them answer. Jaebum turns around, sizing them up in the light of his entranceway. Something clicks together in his eyes, and he frowns. 

A loud, insistent meow startles them and Chan looks down to see a grey cat padding into the room, avoiding all of the newcomers and winding its way around her owner’s feet. 

“Hi, love,” Jaebum says, kneeling down to rub behind the cat’s ears, “Sorry I missed dinner.” 

He gets to his feet, leaving his shoes by the door and waving them further into the house. 

“You must be hungry,” he says. “You can leave your stuff anywhere. Come in and sit.” 

Chan looks at Felix and Sana, who both look at him like they’re waiting for his move. Chan sighs and kneels to unlace his boots before following the man into the other room, which turns out to be a simple, cozy kitchen. Jaebum is searching through his cabinets, gathering ingredients for something on his counter. 

“Sit down,” Jaebum adds, nodding at the table, “This will take a minute.” 

Chan can’t stop staring at Jaebum as he cooks. In the woods, Chan had right away thought that he was handsome, but now that they’re inside with better lighting, he sees that he’s beautiful. Striking, even, with sharp angled eyebrows and a straight nose, squared chin. 

Jaebum turns from the stove and his quick, dark eyes land on Chan’s. He smirks, and Chan feels found out, his neck and ears burning. 

Jaebum is quiet for a minute, and Chan looks around his kitchen. It’s small and spare, only essentials, nothing like the kitchen back at their house, full and messy, drying herbs hanging from the ceiling and unlabelled jars of all sizes filling the countertops. It’s clean, though, and seems well-loved. 

When Chan looks at Felix, he sees that he’s also watching Jaebum carefully, but he’s focused specifically on his hands. 

“Why aren’t you using magic?” Felix asks suddenly. Chan almost kicks him under the table for being rude, but Sana gets there first. 

“Felix,” she warns, “You know he can’t.” 

Jaebum chuckles at that, a warm gentle rumble that makes Chan start to feel like maybe he made the right decision to trust him. 

“Yes, he can,” Felix insists, with an intensity that surprises Chan. Jaebum looks at Felix, “You can, I just saw you.” 

“Felix!” Sana yelps. 

“It’s alright,” Jaebum interrupts, “The kid’s right.” 

He picks up a bulb of garlic and does something complicated with his hands, and suddenly he’s holding two identical bulbs. He places them back on the counter and gets out a cutting board. 

“I _can_ do kitchen magic,” he says, peeling four cloves of garlic with another hand motion, “I’m just not very good at it. It always makes the food taste like shit. My husband is the kitchen witch, but he’s on a job so you’re stuck with me.” 

Jaebum shrugs his shoulder like he’s unaware of the size of the bomb he’s just dropped on the three of them. Chan sees the shock on Sana’s face, knows she’s still processing the “this man can do ‘women’s magic’” thing. Felix is chewing on his bottom lip and Chan doesn’t know what he’s thinking about but Chan is still stuck on the word “husband.” 

Jaebum had just _said_ it. My husband. Said it with pride, a hint of fondness. My husband. 

They eat dinner in a silence that is not quite comfortable. 

Jaebum hands them blankets, tells them they can choose who uses the spare bedroom and who sleeps on the couch. The two eldest insist Felix sleep in the actual bed, and after some arguing, Sana takes the couch and Chan sleeps on the floor. 

❧

Once Sana is asleep, Chan kicks off his own blankets and crosses to the room Felix is in. He knocks, once, knuckles rapping gently on the wood of the door. Felix is there in an instant, opening the door and letting him slip inside. 

He looks small in borrowed pajamas, his hair frizzing slightly as it dried from the shower he’d taken after dinner to warm up. 

“How’s your head?” Felix asks, taking his hand. Chan shrugs, rubbing at it. It hurts like a bitch, but he’s not about to tell Felix that. He’s got enough to worry about as it is. 

Felix pulls Chan towards the bed, lets him into sheets that are still warm from where he was laying in them. 

"Hold me?"

He's never going to say no to that. Chan rolls towards Felix, collecting him against his chest. His body heat radiates through his sweatshirt. Felix relaxes at once, melting into his arms. 

Chan holds him tighter against his chest, burying his nose in Felix's soft hair. He smells like home, like security. Chan feels something loosen in him, some muscle that has been winding itself tighter and tighter all day. 

Felix is safe, Felix is here, Felix is alive and Chan has the proof under his hand, where Felix’s heart is beating in his chest, slow and steady like the constantly-moving wheels of a night train. 

Chan counts the beats in groups of five; _one-two-three-four-five_ , _one-two-three-four-five_ , until, exhausted, he finally falls asleep. 

❧

He wakes up with his back to Felix and the wall, facing the window across the room. 

It’s before dawn, so Chan closes his eyes again, but Felix moves, rubs his nose against Chan's hair. Wraps his arms around Chan.

"Hey," Chan says, resting his hand on Felix's arm. Felix hums in response. "I'm sorry about last night." 

Felix goes still, "Which part?"

"The part where I got knocked out like an idiot," Chan says, "The part where I didn’t protect you." 

Felix kisses the back of his neck. 

It's a grey shade of blue in the room. There’s snow on the window ledge outside, but Felix's fingers feel warm on his chest, his stomach, pressing down, fingertips skating over his skin. 

"I thought," Felix says, "I told you we were supposed to protect each other."

Chan hums sleepily, showers of sparks skittering over his skin as Felix explores his body with his hands. Chan lets him, content to simply revel in the fact that Felix is here. 

And it’s like Felix has been waiting for this opportunity. As soon as he realizes Chan is letting him do whatever he wants, he turns so sweet and confident. He slides his hand up all the way to Chan's throat, cupping it gently and making him swallow hard. He skims his hand down Chan’s stomach and plays with his waistband.

Out the window, the sun is just beginning to slip through the trees, soft gold light refracting through the frost on the window panes. 

Felix slips his pinky under Chan's waistband and Chan jerks forward, just a tiny bit. Felix chuckles in his ear. 

"S'just me," Felix's morning voice is so low, it makes all of Chan's hairs stand on end. He's still hovering between sleep and waking, enjoying Felix's hands on him, “Breathe.” 

Felix grips him through his underwear, gentle fingers squeezing along his length. 

"You know," Felix says quietly, gently stroking Chan through his sweatpants. He pauses like he’s considering something, "You always say I’m pretty, but you should see yourself.” 

Chan flushes and Felix giggles behind him. 

“Your ears get so red when you’re shy,” he says, nipping at Chan’s shoulder, “And when you’re about to—” 

“ _Felix,_ ” Chan whines in embarrassed protest. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Felix apologizes with soft kisses to the back of his neck, “You’re just so cute. And I’m just. Really glad you’re okay.” 

Chan turns onto his back and Felix settles on his chest, draping the duvet over his shoulders like a cape to keep them both warm. 

Felix’s eyes are the perfect shape for eyes to be, Chan thinks. Everything about Felix is the perfect shape. Chan breathes in and out, takes in the vision that is Felix in the dawn light. Chan thumbs at his favorite patch of freckles by Felix's right eye. 

“M’fine,” Chan says, “I’m here.”

Felix kisses him so sweetly for that, and maybe that shouldn’t make him hard but it’s _Felix_ so it does. Felix doesn’t seem to mind. He nuzzles his nose into Chan's chest, makes his way down his body until he's fully under the covers, slowly pushing Chan's shirt up his chest with small, insistent fingers. 

Outside, the sky is slowly changing from grey to gold, the sun catching in the mist hanging between the trees. 

Felix pulls Chan's pants down with his boxers, kissing wetly across Chan's lower stomach, rubbing his hands slowly up and down Chan's thighs. 

"Felix," Chan tries to say, squirming a little as Felix’s close attention starts to make him nervous, " _Baby_. Come up here. Let me—" 

Felix takes Chan into his mouth, his tongue velvet soft on Chan's aching cock. It feels so good that he moans, then claps a hand over his mouth, embarrassed by the sound in the quiet morning. Felix tugs Chan’s pajama pants down further, trails his fingers up to the inside of Chan’s thighs where they connect with his body. 

Felix slides his mouth off of Chan, pulls the covers back and says something that Chan misses because he’s still half asleep and he can't stop staring at Felix's mouth.

“You okay?” Felix asks, wetting his bottom lip with his pink tongue. Chan reaches up and touches Felix’s lip with the pad of his thumb, and Felix presses a gentle kiss against it. Chan nods, then hauls him in for a proper kiss.

Felix falls on top of him with a muffled _mmph_ , and then kisses him back enthusiastically, holding on to the sides of his head. Kissing Felix turns Chan's brain to mush. He'd happily continue doing it for as long as Felix would let him. 

“Don’t distract me,” Felix says, pulling back and scowling playfully at Chan. Chan can’t help but smile, “I was in the middle of something.” 

Felix crawls back between his legs and strokes his cock again, takes hold of it and focuses on it like it’s some puzzle he has to solve. Chan can practically see the cogs turning in his mind. Then he ducks forward and licks up Chan’s cock, sucking the flushed tip into his mouth. He sucks him off diligently, a little line of concentration appearing on his forehead. 

Chan reaches a hand down and threads it through Felix's hair, not to control his movement but just to feel the way his head bobs as he swallows around Chan's length. 

Chan sucks on his bottom lip, pressing it between his teeth. 

"Felix," Chan croaks, and Felix blinks up at him, his eyes hazy. He's so warm, he can feel the pulse of his heart in his skin, wants to get off so badly, "Felix, _baby_ , I'm gonna—."

Felix pulls off of him, comes up to kiss him again, jerking him off steadily with his hand. 

"You're so sexy, god," Felix groans into Chan's mouth, and he squirms at the compliment, toes digging into the bed, back arching. Felix nips at his lower lip and kisses along his jaw to his ear, low voice barely above a rumbling whisper that Chan can feel in his gut, "Come for me." 

And at Felix’s command, he does. Spills all over Felix's hand and his own stomach, the buzzing in his ears reaching a crescendo and then cutting out completely. He feels like his head is full of cotton. 

Felix keeps kissing him and Chan, his brain still fuzzy, swipes his fingers through the mess on his belly and wraps his hand around Felix's dick. 

Felix makes a noise like Chan has broken his brain, which serves him right to be perfectly honest. 

Chan clutches Felix to him, kisses him to keep him from making the noises he usually makes when he's close. 

Felix fucks his hips up frantically into Chan's hand, and Chan can tell he's close when he starts to squeeze Chan's arms too hard. As soon as he does, Chan stops completely. Felix looks like a wounded puppy, and Chan feels bad for a moment but then he's flipping them over, pinning Felix into the sheets and swallowing him down. It doesn't take long before Felix is spilling into his mouth with his teeth dug into his knuckles, his hair a messy tangle above his head. 

He flops back down onto the mattress and makes grabby hands for Chan, who complies easily. 

"How," Felix asks, "Are you so good at that?" 

Chan swells with pride, kisses Felix's jawbone. He wraps both arms around Felix, who makes a happy little chirp and nuzzles into Chan's neck. 

❧

Chan wakes up for the second time with the sun, the soft furnace of Felix’s body half on top of his own. Felix has always run hot, especially when he sleeps. 

Chan untangles himself from Felix and gets dressed quickly. He’d meant to get up before sunrise, so he wouldn’t get caught in Felix’s bed, but he’d been so tired and something about the quiet of this house had him sleeping better than he has in months. He wonders if Jaebum and his husband have placed some kind of charm on the house. 

Chan opens the door to Felix’s room and a tiny orange cat rushes in past his feet. It jumps up on the bed like it owns it and curls up in the spot Chan had just reluctantly vacated. 

Felix’s face is puffy with sleep, and as Chan looks back at him, some horrifyingly enormous emotion moves inside him, shifting like tectonic plates. He’s always known it was there, but for years now he’s done a good job avoiding it. It’s odd how easy that was to do when he was afraid all the time. 

He looks at the morning sun on Felix’s freckles and tries to find a word big enough to describe what he feels. 

_I’ve been in love with him my whole life,_ he’d said to Sana. The words pale now, in comparison to this awful, unwieldy _thing_ that sits at the very center of him. He gets the strange urge to shake his older sister awake just to correct himself; _No, it’s like this: He is my whole life. He is. He is. He’s me. He’s everything._

Sana’s still asleep on the couch and Chan is about to crawl back under his blanket on the floor when he catches sight of Jaebum through the kitchen window. 

Jaebum is awake. Jaebum had to walk through the living room to get outside. Which means he knows Chan wasn’t asleep on the floor which means he knows Chan was with Felix. 

Chan freezes, feels those tectonic plates settle back into place inside him, burying whatever monstrosity he’d come close to unearthing and covering it back up with years of practiced shame. 

Objectively, Chan knows that this man, this stranger, isn’t likely to care all that much. _My husband,_ he’d said, _my husband._ Chan has been turning those words over in his mind like a tumbled stone all night. 

He stands in the hallway, hands in his sweatshirt pockets and feet shifting on the floor. He’s definitely not getting any more sleep, and he doesn’t like the idea of Jaebum being awake when the three of them are sleeping. He’s been nothing but kind to them, but Chan is cautious by nature.

He crosses to the back door and slides it open, stepping out onto the landing. 

Suddenly, even though he could see snow through the window, it’s spring in Jaebum’s yard. It’s like stepping into a greenhouse with no ceiling or walls. Chan breathes in humid air and watches a pale-yellow butterfly meander through the yard. 

The space is small and filled with greenery, with herbs and flowers growing in every direction. It looks nothing like Chan’s mother’s garden with its cleanly labeled rows.

The spell that protects the plants must stop at the fence, because Chan can see fresh snow piled several inches high on the wooden fence that surrounds the yard on three sides.

Jaebum seems to know where everything is, picking through the plants and snapping little sprigs off, collecting them in his hand before depositing them haphazardly on a white dishcloth he’s laid in the grass. 

“Good morning,” Chan says, because he might be anxious, but his mother raised him with manners. Jaebum glances up at him. He’s wearing glasses this morning, and his hair is pulled back in a ponytail that it’s not quite long enough for, messy strands falling out at the back of his neck. 

Jaebum smirks at him. At least, Chan thinks he’s smirking. That also just seems to be his favorite way to smile. 

“Hey,” Jaebum says, dropping more sprigs of herbs on his cloth, “Did you sleep okay?” 

“Yeah, um,” Chan says, a nervous fluttering high in his chest, “Sorry.” 

Jaebum wipes his hands on his jeans, looking at Chan with that placid, direct look he has. The one that makes Chan feel like Jaebum is reading his mind. 

“Sorry for what?” Jaebum asks. 

“For, um,” Chan says, shifting on his feet, nodding his head back towards the house, towards the room where he’d slept with Felix, where he’d kissed him, “You know—” 

Jaebum looks him over, his pretty sharp eyes surveying him. When he speaks, his voice is low and serious. 

“Kid, you’re safe here,” he says, “You don’t have to apologize for anything.” 

Chan flushes deeply, looks down at his feet. He nods for slightly too long. Nobody’s ever said anything like that to him before. 

“Are you any good in the kitchen?” Jaebum asks as he gathers up the herbs he’d picked. 

Chan laughs with nervous relief. 

“No,” he says, “I’m terrible.” 

“Perfect,” Jaebum says, eyes twinkling, “Me too. Let’s ruin breakfast.”

❧

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/bloombloompowie) | [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/bloombloompowie)


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